Fated
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Princess Lydia should be thrilled. She's engaged to be married to Lord Whitmore, the most handsome and rich bachelor in the Kingdom and soon, she will be crowned Queen. Yet, all she feels is dread. A chance encounter with a blacksmith's apprentice in town begins to open her eyes to what her life could be, but will she be brave enough to fight for it? *stydia, fantasy/medieval AU*


_**Author's Note:**_ _This is probably one of my more crazier fanfic ideas but honestly, once I pictured medieval!Lydia and Stiles in my mind, the story practically wrote itself. I'll be honest, I'm not an expert on life in medieval times or anything like that. Forgive me if anything seems wrong history-wise or language-wise. That being said, this is set more of a fantastical setting (think Camelot) so there will be moments when I choose to ignore medieval convention and add a few moments of magic. Anyways, please enjoy!_

* * *

" _Joyous in love, I make my aim_

 _forever deeper in Joy to be._

 _The perfect Joy's the goal for me:_

 _so the most perfect lady I claim._

 _I've caught her eyes. All must exclaim:_

 _the loveliest heard or seen is she."_

— _William IX, Duke of Aquitaine, "Joyous in Love, I Make My Aim"_

* * *

The news is given to her with cold civility.

In her mother's ornate bedchamber, with the ladies-in-waiting dismissed—though the young princess could hear her mother's servants giggling, each trying to press their ear to the door in the hopes they might hear what is being discussed—the Crown Princess of the realm of Beacon Hills, Lydia Martin, is told by her mother, the Queen and current ruler, that she is of age to be married. The previous King, her father, had died not yet three summers ago, but ruling alone and as a woman had been rough for her mother. She wasn't a woman built to handle feuding nobles and suppress civil unrest. The young princess could see the toll the long nights and early mornings had taken on her once carefree mother and how eagerly the older woman wished to relinquish it once more.

Simply put, her mother was meant to support a ruler, not actually govern herself.

"Married, Your Majesty." Lydia states, somewhat unsure if she had heard correctly.

"Indeed, child. Your husband has been chosen, a man who will unite our Kingdom and keep it safe against invaders." The Queen won't even look her daughter in the eye. "Tis a good match, one carefully orchestrated. You should be pleased."

Pleased, yes, to be able to marry a rich stranger. There's nothing more that Lydia has desired.

"If it pleases Your Majesty," Lydia begins, voice soft, trying not to break as the tears mist her vision, "Might I know my future husband's name?"

Her mother chuckles somewhat, smirking, "Oh, my dear child, have you not realized? He is one known to you." The Queen places a warm hand on her daughter's cheek and continues, "He is the brave and noble, Lord Whitmore."

"Lord Whitmore?" The Princess does her best to force a smile on her lips, but her heart sinks. She knows of Lord Whitmore's reputation. He is fair of face, but has a cruel heart. While he'd been nothing more than civil with her, she'd heard rumors of him bedding maidens and then abandoning them. Not only that, but he was quick to anger and always eager for a fight. Such a man would be her husband and also be the King of Beacon Hills?

"Now, my child, tell me how you feel about such joyous news. He is handsome, is he not? He cares for you. He has professed to me how quite deeply and ardently he loves you." The Queen leaned back ever so slightly in her wooden chair, her eyes carefully scanning her daughter's visage for any traces of sadness.

"Your Majesty," Lydia swallowed the tears and plastered a grin on her stiff lips. Rising from her chair, she reached for her lilac skirts and curtsied deeply, letting her hair tumble ever so slightly so as to block the lone tear rolling down her cheek. Then, in a strong voice, she continued, "I am honored that you have secured me such a fine match. I only wish that I may one day prove to be as worthy of it as you believe me to be."

Her mother rose and embraced her, "Oh, Lydia, I am so relieved. Nothing grieves a mother more than not knowing what is to become of her precious daughter." Releasing her, the Queen grinned, "Lord Whitmore is away on a campaign on the outskirts of our kingdom. He is set to return in a month's time. As such, the wedding will be when he returns."

"A month's time?" Lydia tries not to let the shock show on her face. "Your Majesty, that is not much time—"

"Tis true," The Queen conceded, "That is why we must make haste. We announce the engagement tomorrow and then after that, we must begin the preparations." Then, as if sensing her daughter's discomfort, the Queen squeezed the princess' hand. "Go now, my child, you surely wish to tell Lady Argent of your news. I give you leave."

Lydia curtsied once more, "As you command, Your Majesty."

Then, safely out of the room, she began to navigate the twisting corridors of the castle. Returning to her own chamber, she found Alison already seated at her table.

Upon her entrance, Alison quickly stood up and curtsied before noticing Lydia's face, "Princess? What ails you?"

There had never been a need for formality between the two of them. They were practically sisters as they had been playmates as children. Alison had been her safe harbor through the years and her family was like her own. She'd often spend nights discussing what it might be like to get married, to kiss a man—but that had always been with one unsaid implication.

Being with a man they loved.

But Lydia knew—just like she has always known—that marrying for love isn't a privilege she can afford. Her life was not just hers—it was her kingdom's. Every action she took, it was for the betterment of her people. She grew up with this, had been instructed in it almost every day so this marriage should not be upsetting but . . .

"Lydia." Alison hugged her, arms securely holding her against her best friend's chest and the princess began to sob as the sadness overwhelmed her.

"Oh, Alison!"

"There, there," Alison ran a hand through Lydia's hair, tugging it free of its braids so that it tumbled freely, the loose strands kissing the back of her neck. "Tell me, what happened?"

When Lydia could finally speak, she faced her closest confidant and uttered the horrible proclamation, "I am to be married in one month's time to Lord Whitmore."

Alison blanched, "Lord Whitmore? Surely not!"

"My mother made the match herself." The princess forced herself to breathe

slowly and deeply, trying to calm her rattled nerves.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Alison pressed and Lydia chuckled darkly.

"The Kingdom needs a King."

"I know, but him?" Alison scowled, pacing the room, as her skirts rustle, "Is there no one else?"

"No one suitable." Lydia stated sharply, sighing somewhat. "Alison, I knew this day would come, but I never believed . . ." She leaned forward, letting her head rest on her hand as the urge to cry overwhelmed her once more. "I am being foolish. I am the Crown Princess. Who I marry is not for my betterment but for the betterment of the Kingdom." She smiled weakly, "Perhaps I shall grow to love him one day."

Alison said nothing for a few moments before coming to sit by her best friend's side. Her hand reached for Lydia's and then quietly, she added, "Perhaps."

They sat there in silence for a small eternity until Lydia asked, "Would you help me go—?"

"I thought you never ask." Alison replied with a sly grin.

And for the first time that day, Princess Lydia smiled.

* * *

The air was so much cleaner the further you got away from the castle.

As it stood, Princess Lydia was an expert of sneaking out of the confines of her castle and she savored her time on the outside of its stone walls. Being among her people, seeing them laugh and live their lives—it never failed to uplift her spirit. No matter her own problems, she knew that the people saw her as a beacon of hope. Her marriage would no doubt signal a joyous celebration and she would need to pay her part.

But, for this moment, she could pretend to be a normal maiden, in a normal, plain dress, just strolling around the outskirts of the castle village. With her hair down, she felt free from her duties and it was an exhilarating rush. Normally, Alison would accompany her on these trips, but her mother had detained Alison and thus, only Lydia could make it. She'd make it up to her friend when she returned.

Feeling the wind blow past her and the sunshine on her face, Lydia wondered how it could possibly get better than this. She felt at peace here—outside in nature. It was a peace she'd never experienced in the palace. It was peace that—once she was married—she'd probably never experience again. As a wife, she'd have even more duties to perform. People would expect more of her.

She couldn't let anyone down.

She didn't see the rock before her foot had caught upon it and she went tumbling down towards the ground.

"Careful!" A voice shouted and instantly, she was jerked back upright. "Are you all right?"

She glanced to her rescuer; a young man dressed in a blacksmith's uniform and found herself captivated by his hazel eyes. They were sparkling in the light and she wanted to keep searching them, keep staring at them for an eternity.

"Madam, are you ill? Do you require assistance?"

Luckily, years of training soon came flooding back. She took a step away from him and lowered her gaze, trying not to appear too bold.

"My apologies," She bobbed a curtsy. "I was not looking while I walked."

"Aye," The man replied, and when she stole a glance at him, she could see the smirk on his lips, the teasing light in his gaze, "I could tell that."

"I am unharmed." She informed him, taking another step back, "I will just return—"

"You are alone?" He questioned and she raised her eyebrows.

It was a dangerous question for a young lady. Meeting a stranger; however handsome his eyes might be, was not appropriate for a lady of her status and age. In fact, she was never supposed to be alone with any man until she was married.

"I am not." She lied.

He laughed, loud and boisterous, "Begging your pardon, Madam," He winked at her, "But you have been alone for the past hour at least."

She raised her eyebrow, "And pray tell, how would you know such a thing?"

He blushed somewhat, rubbing his neck with his hand as he glanced away, stammering, "I . . . well, uh, you passed by my shop." His eyes widened, "I mean, not my shop, but the shop where I apprentice. It could be my shop, one day, you know, if I, uh, work hard."

She hid her laughter behind her hand, trying not to let her amusement show, "I see. Well, sir, I wish you well in your studies." She turned to leave, but she could hear his footsteps crunching on the dirt path as he quickly fell in step with her.

"Madam, it would not be proper if I let you go alone."

"It would not be proper for me to walk with a stranger."

"I can remedy that then," He smirked, "My name is Stiles."

"Stiles?" She repeated, the name unfamiliar on her tongue, "Stiles what?"

"Just Stiles." He repeated.

"No last name?" She questioned, a warning flag in her mind. Acquaintances were based on lineage. If Stiles didn't want to share his with her, then something awful had occurred in his past. That, or his family had fallen out of favor with the court.

"No." They kept walking down the path, towards the edge of town. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, Madam, you. We will only remain strangers if you refuse to reveal your name."

"It's Alison." She blurted out. "No last name."

"Well, Miss Alison no last name," He bowed with a flourish and offered his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She allowed him to kiss her hand, ignoring the shockwaves his lips against her skin sent through him.

"And you as well, Mr. Stiles."

The church bells began to ring, signaling her time on the outside was up. It was time to return back to her gilded cage and her life full of duty.

"Miss Alison?" He must have seen her looking off in the distance.

She smiled ruefully, "I must go."

"I wish you well." He stated.

"You as well."

They both stood there, awkwardly waiting for the other to move. Finally, she forced her legs to move and she began to move back towards the castle.

"Miss Alison!" Stiles called, voice booming and she turned around to see him standing across from her, breathless and smiling, "I hope we may meet again soon!"

They should never meet again. He was an apprentice and she was a princess—they would never even travel in the same social circles in life. She shouldn't get his hopes up.

But there was something about him. Something that she can't quite put her finger on. She wanted to see him. She wanted to talk to him more.

"I wish for that as well."

With that, she turned and left.

And when she returned to the castle, perhaps she is more joyous than she was than she left, but that's what the wonders of being outside the palace could do, right?

Right.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Good? Bad? Hopefully not too weird? I have a few more chapters planned for this story so I hope you stick around. Thanks! Please review if you have a moment._


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